Opposites
by rubberglue
Summary: Gwen is the Prime Minister's daughter while Arthur is the crown prince of England. They may not get along in public but behind closed doors, it's a different story.


Happy birthday G! The first bit has been posted before in Snippets but now there's a second bit. :)

* * *

His lips are suckling at her neck, her hands are fumbling with his trousers and despite that tiny, sensible part of her brain that's flashing a warning, she's never felt so aroused or free in her life. Being the Prime Minister's daughter means following rules, regulation and reams of protocol. Here, in this darkened hotel room, she is free from all the shackles.

"Oh, do that again," she groans and he obliges, nibbling along her collar.. She finally pushes his trousers down together with his boxers - boxers that are bound to be cheesily patriotic - and wraps her hand around his hard length. He breath is released on a long hiss and Gwen smiles. Who knew she had so much power over the Crown Prince?

Somehow, he's managed to push her dress to the floor and his lips have latched onto her nipple. He bites and sucks and every touch of his on her skin is like fire. Why does someone so annoying have to be so gorgeous? Why does her body want him so much? Why are they doing this again?

But her eminently sensible questions are drowned out by the roar of desire that courses through her veins as he kisses her stomach, his hands firm against her hips.

"Tell me to stop," Arthur mutters against her stomach, his fingers poised just above her center. "We hate each other."

"We do," she agrees but moves so his fingers get closer. A low growl escapes from him and Arthur pushes his fingers in while his thumb rubs her clit. "I hate your ego, your refusal to listen to my father - "

"Don't talk about your father." He withdraws his fingers, adjusts their positions so his length is against her. "Last chance to say no."

She says yes and he sinks into her. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she tries not to cry out at the pleasure of having him fill her.

At the next party a month later, he catches her eye across the room and lifts his glass. Within the hour, they find an empty guest room.

* * *

Delicate diplomatic negotiations are happening downstairs in the large conference room, involving her father and the president of the neighbouring country. The King had offered the use of his summer palace, hidden in the middle of the country's lush forest, for the negotiations.

Gwen hopes that the negotiations below are going better than Arthur's negotiation with her dress.

"Why," he mutters, his breath hot and wet on her ear, "do you wear such things? I should just rip it off you."

"It's an Isolde original," Gwen manages to say, dropping her head back onto his shoulder just as his hands slide around and cup her breasts. Through the thick material of the dress, she can feel the heat of his palms and her nipples, already sensitive the moment he'd touched her, seemed to strain towards him.

"Forget it," he says. Then, without warning, he swings her into his arms. Immediately, her arms wraps around his neck and she bites down to stop herself from squealing, but she doesn't really have to as Arthur dips his head and kisses her.

The familiar, musky scent of his cologne teases her nose and Gwen closes her eyes. Her fingers dig into his hair and behind her shut eyes, she can picture the contrast between her darker hands and his golden hair.

Her bum touches something cool and Gwen realises that Arthur has sat her on the large table that dominated the study. She wonders why they couldn't have walked the few steps to one of their rooms, but her thoughts are immediately scuppered when Arthur lifts up her dress, dragging the it over her thighs, as he continues to kiss her, nibbling her lips.

When Arthur moves his lips from hers, she hears herself protest and she leans forward, but with a low laugh, Arthur stops her.

"So impatient," he teases and she scowls at him, but that only makes Arthur laugh again. She feels his laugh, and it makes her stomach do a somersault. How does someone who annoys her so much, turn her on this way?

He licks the side of her neck and she drops her head back as heat pools between her legs. His mouth covers one breast, his tongue laving the area, making the cloth that separates him from her skin wet.

Then, he's on his knees, spreading hers and Gwen can feel his breath against her thighs. His fingers are smoothing over the edge of her stockings and she moves her hips, trying to urge his fingers closer to where she is aching. But he takes his time, running his fingers along the seam of her stockings before slowly, peeling them off.

"Did you wear this for me?"

"I always wear them."

His lips curve into a smile against her thigh. "Mmm. Proper Ms Thomas wearing such sexy lingerie. What would the newspapers say?"

"The newspapers are liars," says Gwen. She adjusts her arms, leaning her weight on them as she peers down to see Arthur's head between her legs. "They said you were good in bed, but I'm far from satisfied right now."

He laughs once more, but continues to take his time, his breath teasing the edges of her centre. One hand slides down her leg, encircling her ankle and his thumb rubs against her skin.

She squirms, she begs and she threatens. Arthur ignores her.

Finally, he presses a kiss against her damp panties and she lets out a groan, her arms shivering in response to the surge of lust that tears through her. With one finger, he pushes her panties to the side and his tongue dips into her.

She doesn't know what she's saying.

"What do you want, Guinevere?"

Only Arthur calls her Guinevere and the intimacy of that only heightens her arousal. "Not your mouth," she manages to say.

He licks her again. "What do you want?"

"You, in me."

With one hand holding her dress up, Arthur stands up so quickly she barely has time to react. He covers her mouth with his and she can taste herself on his lips. She wants to touch him, but without the support of her arms, she's not sure she can keep herself upright.

Then, he's inside her, stretching and filling her, the way only he can. It feels like he is all around her, his touch, his scent, his pounding heart.

"Arthur."

Just one word, yet he knows and he moves against her, slowly at first. It's the press of his fingers against her clit that sends her over the edge, her moans swallowed by Arthur's mouth. Her arms have somehow moved to cling to him and she clutches him close. She's like jelly, all wobbly and soft. With one last thrust, Arthur tenses before his weight falls on top of hers.

Papers and other stuff from the table fall onto the thick carpet.

Gwen strokes his damp hair as he clumsily kisses her neck.

They are seated opposite each other at dinner. Her father warns her not to pick a fight with him. They end up quarreling anyway, in between his foot rubbing her calf and him shooting hot glances at her. Beside her, her father sighs while King Uther curtly tells Arthur to cut it out.

She's getting ready for bed, when Arthur slips into her room that night.

"Why are you here?" She clutches her comb in front of her, annoyance rising when he smirks.

"That's hardly a weapon."

She puts the comb down and repeats her question.

"My father says you've been seeing Lancelot." The smirk is gone and his eyes are more serious than she's ever seen them. He moves to sit on her bed and all Gwen can think of is how he would look, naked against her sheets.

"We've been on a few dates." Arthur would look like a god, lying on the red sheets with his pale body and golden hair. She's never really seen him fully naked, she realises, and it hammers home to her just how casual this really is. "I like him."

There's a frown on Arthur's face. "He's my friend."

"I know."

"What about us?"

She backs into the dresser and crosses her arms. "There is no us."

Suddenly, Arthur is standing, his arms trapping her between him and the dresser. He stares at her and Gwen finds herself unable to do anything but stare back at him.

His kiss is hard, painful and devoid of the gentleness she's grown used to. "There is an us," he growls. "This is us. And I don't like to share."

Uncrossing her arms, she places them on his chest. "I don't like to share either."

"Good," he says, as if they've both agreed on something. And maybe they have because he leads her to her bed and for the first time, they are both completely naked and for the first time, he stays the night.

She's right. He does look like a god in her bed.


End file.
